


i'll be rising with the morning tide

by distracted_dragon



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Dealing With Trauma, Emotional Manipulation, Hurt/Comfort, Inquisitor Backstory, Mercenaries, Multi, Pining, Pre-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Slow Burn, feelings can't bother you if you pretend not to have any, honestly this is pretty gay and it's only getting gayer, ignoring your problems until they go away, it's about the friends you make along the way, mental health, partial AU, qunari inquisitor joins a different mercenary band
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-15 22:34:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15423099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distracted_dragon/pseuds/distracted_dragon
Summary: In an aspiring mercenary company, Miyah Adaar finds her home somewhere between a crackling campfire and the dust caking her staff. As tensions rise between templars and mages, Miyah takes an unwanted and particularly fateful tumble through the Fade. Now, Miyah and her friends must fight to protect not just each other, but the world itself.or:A qunari mage, a human archer, a Dalish warrior, and an elf blooded rogue walk into a mercenary company.





	i'll be rising with the morning tide

**Author's Note:**

> _come tomorrow i'll be in the ocean_  
>  _i'll be rising with the morning tide_  
>   
>  -start of time, gabrielle aplin
> 
>  
> 
> Welcome! This fic starts a few weeks before the conclave and will ultimately go through the events of inquisition. I'm breaking canon a little, but I'm breaking it with lots of love and care. In this fic, the future inquisitor joins a different mercenary band than the Valo-Kas. 
> 
> As a heads up, there's a scene in this chapter containing emotional manipulation. If you decide to skip it, the scene begins at "Tevinter summers" and ends after the dashed lines with "Zuhra wakes". 
> 
> The fic title comes from "Start of Time" by Gabrielle Aplin and the title of chapter one comes from "Sky Full of Song" by Florence + the Machine.

Miyah’s head hurts almost as much as the one time she let the rest of her mercenary company talk her into being the one to capture a nobleman’s escaped pet bear. With her eyes closed, she can’t tell where she is but she keeps getting jostled.

She can hear hoofbeats pounding outside-- she’s near horses, then. Is she in some sort of wagon? Something scratchy pokes at her arm. The smell of hay is distinctive, even when it’s buried under horse stink. As someone who grew up on a farm, Miyah couldn’t forget the smell of hay.

It takes a minute for Miyah to convince her eyes to open. She almost immediately regrets it and blinks at the sunlight shining directly into her face.

“Ah, you’re awake.”

Her mind feels like it’s covered in honey and it takes her a moment to locate the source of the familiar voice. She finds Mael sitting on a supply crate, legs crossed. His helmet and bow lay on the floor next to him, along with his leather chest guard.

“How are you feeling?” He watches her face carefully. There’s a hint of concern in his eyes, but he doesn’t move from his seat. A ray of sunlight shines directly into his eyes, forcing him to lift a hand to shield his gaze.

“I’m fine.” Miyah shrugs as best as she can while laying down. “I have a bit of a headache, but it’s probably dehydration. How long have I been out? Was anyone else injured?”

“Nobody else sustained any significant injuries.” He drums his fingers on his knee and Miyah lets out a sigh of relief. Mael regards her with sharp eyes and tilts his head, sending his dreadlocks tumble over his shoulder. “You’re only been asleep for a few hours. That apostate got you pretty well. From what we could tell, it looked like a sleeping spell. We had to levitate you to get you in here and you’ve been asleep since then.”

Miyah grunts and lifts a hand to rub at her head. Mael grin at her, a flash of white teeth. “We dealt with them pretty quickly after you went down. Tanvir got to the guy who did it and, well. There’s not much left for you to yell at, if that’s what you were hoping for.”

She sighs. It really must have been some spell to knock her out. She recalls the flurry of motion in the fight, a flash of purple, and then nothing. Damn. Miyah props herself up on her elbows and for a moment, her head swims. After a heartbeat, it passes and she sits fully upright. Mael observes her wordlessly from his perch on the crate.

“So, no elfroot for me today?” Her shoulders pop as she stretches her arms above her head.

The corner of his mouth twitches. “No elfroot, no. You don’t need it. That is, unless you’re experiencing any side effects from the spell?”

She shakes her head and the motion sends her braid swinging over her shoulder. Her hair is significantly neater than she’s expect after presumably being dragged over to a supply cart while unconscious. That must mean that Mael fixed her hair while she was asleep, Maker bless him.

Come to think of it, it’s a little surprising to see Mael here instead of Robin. Perhaps their main healer is off dealing with something else? Robin does have the most medical experience of anyone else in the company, but it was a spell that knocked Miyah out. Side effects from spells are tricky to treat without magic, so maybe Mael is only here because he’s worried (although he’d never outright admit it).

Nearby, someone yells a command and the steady grind of the wagon wheels slows to a stop. The sunlight drifting into the wagon is warm but weak. Judging by the golden-orange of the sunshine, dusk must be arriving soon. Mael secures his bow on his back but he leaves his armor in the wagon. He offers a callused hand to Miyah and she takes it. As she stands up, she pulls hard enough to make him grunt and mumbles an apology.

Several people, all of them carrying supplies, nod to her as she hops out of the wagon. Everyone busies themselves with dragging tents and packs over to a clearing by the side of the road. Tanvir raises a hand in greeting to Miyah as he leads his horse over to the quickly growing campsite. The sun illuminates Tanvir’s vallaslin, which are the same green as sunshine on the lively green of midsummer leaves. At Mael, Tanvir grins and winks-- one of their inside jokes, most likely. Those two barely need to say a word to each other, what with how much their eyes say for them. Miyah watches the greatsword on Tanvir’s back shine in the fading sunlight as the Dalish elf retreats back into the forest.

A flash of navy blue draws her eye. Zuhra. She has a tent slung over her shoulder and her hair is out of its usual neat braid. Instead, a few dark curls have escaped from the messy bun at the nape of her neck. There’s a twig from a maple tree in her hair-- she must have picked it up during the fight earlier. At any rate, Zuhra doesn’t seem to have noticed. The sunlight makes her soft skin glow like bronze.

 _Are you okay?_ Zuhra mouths the words from across the clearing. When Miyah nods, she visibly relaxes and resumes carrying the tent to the campsite.

“Adaar!” The sudden bellow makes Miyah jump. Mael calmly turns towards the source of the noise. A pale dwarf with embrium-red hair jogs over to them. Her armor clangs together as she moves. Heden. Unsurprisingly, her axe is strapped to her back.

“How are you feeling?” Heden stops in front of them and puts a hand on her hip. She squints at Miyah. “No weird demon shit in your head or anything? Do we need to check it out more?”

“Not that I can tell, no. I can take a better look later.” Miyah shifts her weight. “The apostate’s form during the fight looked pretty put together, like he had actual training. He seemed like a Circle mage to me. I doubt they’d teach him anything particularly dangerous there, so we should be okay.”

“Well, I’m glad that you’re okay.” Heden sighs and rubs at her face. “That noble swore that we would only be dealing with bandits. Ugh, fucking Orlesians. No offense, Mael.”

Mael smiles pleasantly. “None taken.”

“Mael, go find Robin and check in with everyone else. Let me know if anyone looks like they need serious healing.” With a wave of Heden’s hand, Mael peels off and heads for the camp. Heden turns to Miyah with eyes as blue as a bundle of Crystal Grace in the springtime. “Walk with me, Miyah.”

She tips her head towards a nearby ring of trees and starts walking. Miyah follows, careful to slow her strides so the dwarf can keep up.

The sounds of camp echo through the trees until it gradually fades to near-silence. Heden swings herself onto a rock and takes a seat. The quiet drags on. Heden seems rather deep in thought, so Miyah settles in to wait. She brushes some snow off of a chunk of moss at the base of a tree and takes a seat, ignoring how the cold seeps into her back.

It takes a minute for Heden to speak. “I’m going to have us move towards Ferelden. The Sirens are growing and we have solid references in Orlais. We’ll be able to find good work.” She leans back and stares somewhere in the distance.

 _Why Ferelden_ , Miyah silently asks, but she bites back the words to avoid interrupting Heden’s thoughts.

After a long pause, Heden continues. “You scared us a little when you got hit with that spell. I’m glad that you’re fine, but I’m worried that we’re going to encounter more of this.”

“More of what?” Miyah questions.

“More of… you know. Magic. Apostates.” Heden waves her hand towards Miyah. “People aiming for you if you walk around in your mage robes. My main concern is that you’ll be a walking target, I’m not saying that you shouldn’t wear them.  But we do need to figure out a backup plan for when you’re knocked out.”

“We’re all apostates, now.” Miyah says quietly. There’s a sprig of elfroot next to the tree. She plucks the leaf from the stem and turns it over in her hands. As she toys with it, its sharp smell cuts through the air. “I could talk to Irma and have the Sirens do some more intensive training on identifying spells. I don’t know how much it’ll help.”

Heden sighs. “That could be useful. Thank you, Miyah.” A pause as she stares into the distance. “I think that reacting to magical attacks isn’t necessarily the source of the problem. In Ferelden, we’re going to run into a lot of mages and a lot of templars. There’s going to be a lot of hostility towards mages and a lot of hostile mages, and there’s not much we can do about that. Honestly, the whole templar-mage conflict makes me nervous. Something is brewing, but I can’t tell what.”

Miyah snaps the elfroot leaf in half. Its oil soaks into her hands and tints them a light green. She spots another clump of elfroot at the base of the rock and picks another leaf.

“I get the feeling that we’re going to be needed in Ferelden,” Heden continues. “I wanted to talk to you because I know that, as a mage, you may be a target. What happened today will happen again. I don’t want you to feel like it’s your responsibility or your fault if you’re targeted and injured. Sirens take care of each other, yeah? We’ll take care of you.” Her voice is gentle. “I’m going to come up with contingency plans for if you’re taken down. I’ll share them with you as soon as they’re ready.”

The moss underneath her hands is soft and spongy. Miyah sinks her free hand into it. “Okay. That sounds good.” She can feel Heden’s eyes on her. “I think that Robin is a good healer. They’d be fine on their own, but it’ll be better since they’ll have Mael. His poultices can do more than my magic, sometimes. That’s the only thing I can think of right now, but I’ll let you know if I can think of anything else.”

Heden nods pensively. “That sounds good. Thank you for chatting with me, Miyah.” She stands and brushes dust off her breeches. Miyah mimics her and they start the trek back to camp.

“By the way,” says Heden as they walk, “would you mind letting Zuhra know that we’re heading towards Ferelden? I know how skittish she gets with unfamiliar templars and mages running around.”

Miyah nods. The walk back to camp is relatively subdued, at least until they reach the edge of the campsite.

Several logs sit around the fire pit and someone’s set up a basic spit on which several other birds are now roasting. Heden takes a seat on a log close to the fire and holds out her hands to warm them. Several spirited conversations mix together into a soothing rumble of voices.

“Miyah!” Clifford stands up, a grin splitting his freckled face. He’s holding a skewer with some sort of roast bird and there’s a bit of dirt smeared on his cheek, but he doesn’t seem to notice . “You’re awake! How are you feeling?”

“I’m good.” Miyah smiles at him and pats his shoulder. “Sorry if I worried you.”

Clifford waves her off. “Don’t apologize for that, injuries happen. I think we’re all glad that you’re okay.” He wraps her in a tight one-armed hug. “You should get some food. It’s all fresh-- Eliel went hunting as soon as we got here.” He gestures at one of the logs with his free hand. “Go on, sit down. We’ll get you some food.”

Miyah takes a seat at the base of a log and someone passes her a waterskin, which she gratefully takes. Zuhra slinks over to take the seat next to Miyah. She bumps Miyah’s arm with her elbow before turning her attention to Irma.

Sitting across the fire, Irma explains an unusual dagger technique. Her multitude of braids are pulled back into a bun, neat even after the fight earlier that day. Sitting next to Heden, Irma’s human height makes her look like a giant.

Clifford passes Miyah a portion of roast bird. She digs in as Irma continues lecturing Zuhra, occasionally glancing up to watch Irma speak.

“Even if you and Liryn are already smaller than most of your opponents, knowing how to deal with smaller opponents is still worthwhile.” Irma leans forward, armor shining in the firelight. “For Liryn, finding other dwarves who are shorter than her may be rare. But for you, elf blood or no, you’ll still find opponents who are shorter than you. They’ll primarily be dwarves and a few elves, but learning the strategy will be useful.”

Zuhra’s eyes are wide as she soaks in every detail. Her knee is warm against Miyah’s leg.

“Now, you essentially have to invert your usual strategy. You’ll have a longer reach. There’s also the added benefit of being able to aim your attacks downwards  instead of upwards, which will save your energy…”

Miyah tunes Irma out. The vast majority of her opponents are shorter than her, so she’s heard all of this before. She is, after all, a qunari. It would be worrying if most of her opponents were the same height as her.

Across the circle, Mael and Tanvir are sitting side by side. Mael laughs at something Tanvir says, eyes crinkling. Tanvir nudges Mael’s knee. Mael nudges him back. Another joke is made, and Tanvir smiles. Liryn chimes in with some smart retort.

The night goes on.

\---

By the time Miyah makes her way to her tent, night has settled through the forest. Zuhra left the campfire an hour earlier. Still, Miyah is not surprised to find her still awake in their shared tent.

“Hello again,” murmurs Miyah as she steps through the tent’s entrance. The ceiling is too low for her to stand fully upright, so she must hunch her head to avoid catching the canvas on her horns.

Zuhra lays on top of her bedroll, hands clasped atop her stomach. At some point, she had changed into a loose shirt and soft sleeping pants. Silvery scars on her forearms stand in stark contrast to the copper of her skin. In the lantern light, her eyes are light brown instead of deep gold.

“Evening.” Zuhra glances at Miyah, but looks away as Miyah starts undressing.

Her shoes are first to go, set gently next to her pack. (Someone must have unloaded it while she was talking to Heden. Miyah is intensely grateful.) Next, her overcoat puddles on the floor. She carefully folds them and leaves them in a stack next to her shoes.

“So,” Miyah begins, “I’m sorry if I worried you earlier. I didn’t realize that the spell was going to hit me until too late.” Her belt thuds to the floor.

“Don’t apologize. It happens.” Zuhra sits up and turns away from Miyah. She tugs at the leather strip keeping her bun in place until her hair ripples down her back like a waterfall of ink. It was shoulder length when they first met, but it’s gotten longer during these past few years. Zuhra reaches over and produces a comb from her pack. “It’s a risk we all take.” A pause and her voice softens. “I’m glad that you are unharmed.”

She begins to carefully work the knots out of her hair as Miyah yanks on sleeping clothes. The tent is quiet except for the chirp of crickets and the soft rustle of fabric.

With a sigh, Miyah sits on her sleeping roll. (It’s mysteriously unpacked-- she shoots a quick glance at Zuhra, but she’s still staring at the far wall.) Her body creaks in protest from the earlier fight, but Miyah pointedly ignores it. “Zuhra.”

Zuhra looks over her shoulder as she parts her hair into sections. She raises an eyebrow. “Yes?”

Miyah gestures for her to come over. Zuhra doesn’t protest. She crawls over and sits wordlessly with her back to Miyah. Carefully, Miyah finishes sectioning off Zuhra’s hair and begins to braid it.

“Heden talked to me today about what the Sirens are doing next,” she says with measured casualness. “We’re going to Ferelden. She wanted me to warn you.”

Zuhra stills beneath Miyah’s hands. “Why?”

“The templar-mage conflict is getting worse. She wants you to be emotionally prepared, I think.” A strand of hair slips out of the braid and Miyah deftly tucks it back in.

“I’ll be fine. I’m a rogue, I won’t be one of their targets.” Her voice is whisper-soft. “I’d be more worried about you, Miyah. Your Circle was dissolved but that doesn’t mean they’ll leave you alone. Please take care of yourself, okay? You’re our only mage.”

“But-”

Zuhra cuts her off. “Our _only_ mage.“ She reaches back to lightly rest her hand atop Miyah’s before withdrawing it.

“I know, but I’m not the only vulnerable one here.” Biting her lip, Miyah ties off the braid. “We’ve both seen you-- well. I know that it might be a stressful situation for you. I think Heden wants you to take care of yourself.”

Zuhra closes her eyes. Takes one deep breath, then two. “I will- I will talk see about steps I can take to… _take care of myself_ , as you like to put it. I will try to minimize its effect on me. Thank you. I appreciate the gesture.” She opens her eyes and stares curiously at Miyah before turning back around. Her ears, with their soft elven tips, peek out from her hair. They’re just small enough that if she wishes, Zuhra can hide them in her hair and let the human half of her blood fool those who don’t bother to look closely.

Zuhra smiles at Miyah as she shifts back to her own bedroll. The tip of Zuhra’s dagger gleams from underneath her pillow.

“Good night, Miyah,” Zuhra murmurs.

Miyah wriggles into her delightfully warm bedroll and bids Zuhra good night. It takes mere minutes for sleep to take her.

\---

Tevinter summers feel like being boiled alive. Magisters, of course, never have to deal with the heat because all of them have rune-based cooling systems built into their homes. Even during the hottest part of summer, Magisters wouldn’t sweat a drop.

Zuhra stares down the pristine marble hallway. Torches flicker along the walls and shadows dance like puppets along the marble floor. The hallway is empty except for her shadow, flickering in the torchlight.

A breeze stirs her robes-- they’re summer robes, Zuhra thinks, fashioned from soft white cotton. They leave her shoulders exposed to the cool air while gold armbands wrap around her upper arms. Her hair is swept into a neat bun at the top of her head. It feels odd, after all this time, to wear Tevinter garb again.

“Hello.” Behind her, Khaira’s voice echoes down the halls.

At the sound of Khaira’s voice, Zuhra does not jump but instead slowly turns to face her. Her appearance is here unsurprising. Zuhra cannot picture this hallway without her. Khaira’s presence is wrought into the very walls.

In this dream, Khaira has not changed since Zuhra last saw her seven years ago. She must be approaching middle age, but here, there is no wear on her face. Her skin, normally tawny, looks nearly pale against her black cotton robes. Its hem, embroidered with silver thread, matches the silver bracelets jingling at her wrists. Her smooth black hair falls down her back in a loose braid. When she raises her hands towards Zuhra, her robes ripple with the motion.

“Come here.”Khaira’s voice is gentle, as if she’s speaking to a baby deer. There is no concealed hardness, no sharp edge in her voice. Some part of Zuhra is alarmed, but her mind slows as if it’s caught in the swirling fog of Khaira’s robes.

Zuhra takes Khaira’s hands and lets the human examine her. Under her gaze, she feels oddly exposed.

“You look sad.” Khaira says and cups Zuhra’s face in her icy hands. She’s normally two inches taller than Zuhra but right now, Zuhra doesn’t notice their height difference. “Walk with me.”

Zuhra obediently tucks her hand into Khaira’s elbow. Their robes swish as they walk down the hallway together. Khaira stops when they reach the door to the dining room and it swings open of its own accord.

The dining room is lined with paintings and tapestries and its end stretches beyond Zuhra’s line of sight. Right now, a small wooden table with two chairs rests in the middle of the room. A large hearth burns merrily in the corner of the room and casts a warm glow on the cool green of the walls.

The door swings shut behind them, and Zuhra jumps. Khaira takes a seat in one of the chairs, as poised as ever. Zuhra moves to sit on the floor, but Khaira clicks her tongue and points to the chair facing her. Hesitantly, Zuhra takes a seat on the chair but it feels like the chair might swallow her whole.

“Why are you unhappy?” Khaira clasps her hands in her lap and her usual steely glint returns to her eyes.

“I- my lady, I am… I’m confused.” Zuhra’s mouth won’t work. She can feel the eyes of the paintings on her. Despite the fire, she feels cold. Goosebumps rise along her exposed arms.

Khaira leans forward. “After all I have given you, why are you not happy?” With each flutter of her heart, the walls stretch farther and farther away.

“I am happy with the gifts you have given me, my lady.” Her tongue feels heavy. “I thank you for your generous aid.” Saccharine lies. Flattery often calms Khaira’s temper, but today it does not. Zuhra can feel the strength of Khaira’s anger in her bones. She wants to hide, but the door is the only exit. Trapped.

Khaira frowns as her eyes bore into Zuhra. “You have everything that you could ask for,” she presses. “Is this still not enough? Do you think yourself so high and mighty that you have transcended me?”

Distantly, Zuhra realizes that her hands are shaking. She sinks her fingers into the soft white of her robes as Khaira stares her down. Khaira stands and cups Zuhra’s face with one hand. Her nails dig into Zuhra’s cheek.

“Do not forget where you came from, little bird. The higher you fly, the farther you fall.” She kisses Zuhra’s forehead. It burns like a brand.

Khaira turns abruptly and strides out of the room. Zuhra can only watch as the door slams behind her. The lock clicks. In the hearth, the fire dies out.

She’s alone. It’s suffocating. Zuhra hurries over to the door.

“Please,” she says, “please. Let me out.”

Silence. It’s cold without the fire. Zuhra’s lungs feel like they’re being crushed. Absently, she wonders if Khaira has woven a spell into the room to do just that. It’s certainly not improbable.

She bangs on the door. _“_ Please _._ I’ll listen, I promise. I won’t be a disappointment.”

Still no reply. Zuhra sinks to the ground, knees tucked against her chest.

“ _Please,”_ she begs.

\---

Zuhra wakes, heart pounding. She sits up abruptly and presses a hand to her chest. Impressions flit across her mind, one after the other. Soft cotton and cold and Khaira’s nails digging into her face and being _trapped_. Her chest feels tight.

“Zuhra?” Miyah’s voice is soft and drowsy. Her head turns just enough that her eyes are just barely visible.

The ability to breathe flits in and out of her grasp like a school of minnows. “Bad dream.” Her voice catches in her throat.

Miyah lifts an arm in silent question. Zuhra wriggles over to her bedroll. The worst of the winter cold has already passed, but Miyah is still warmer than the tent air.

It takes Zuhra a moment to settle. When she does, Miyah throws an arm over her side. Her thumb runs over Zuhra’s spine in a slow, steady rhythm. They stay like that for some time as Zuhra tries to remember how to breathe.

Bit by bit, exhaustion settles into Zuhra’s chest. She feels herself drift off as Miyah’s hand rubs circles on her back.

_\---_

Dawn comes, slowly but surely. Zuhra throws her arm over her eyes. Next to her, Miyah groans and pulls the blanket over her head. Outside, twigs crunch and armor clanks as the camp wakes.

Zuhra allows herself another minute before rolling out of bed. She wastes no time in donning her armor. Underclothes first, then hunting pants and a linen shirt. A sturdier shirt goes on top of that one, with laces to keep it close to her body and slits to let her move. Then comes her chestplate and pauldrons, the rising sun tinting their gray with streaks of orange-gold. A leather vest is next, along with leather vambraces and greaves. For extra protection, she pulls on a sleeveless leather vest that nearly brushes the backs of her knees. She ties it off with a long strip of cloth and a belt so it won’t snag during a fight.

After six years, the process is muscle memory. She secures the knotted cloth around her waist, tucks her daggers in their sheaths, and enters the clearing.

Irma nods in greeting from her seat on one of their log benches. She’s already wearing her armor and her sword and shield lay next to her. Heden is sitting beside her. They’ve both likely been up for a while, judging by the decorative braid already running through Heden’s fiery hair. Eliel sits across from them as he stirs a pot of porridge, his blond hair pulled back into its usual long braid. When he looks up, the motion reveals the deep purple of Ghilan’nain’s vallaslin against his pale skin. He bids them a quiet good morning before resuming his task.

Zuhra wanders off to the latrine ditch and then to the nearby brook. She returns, face freshly washed, and sits near Eliel. Inch by inch, the sun creeps into the sky. More mercenaries stumble out of their tents. Mael shields his eyes against the dawn-rich sun. His dreadlocks are already neatly pulled out of his face with a scrap of leather. Meanwhile, Karl yawns and plops down next to the fire. One of the straps on his chest plate is twisted and his round ears stick out of his unbrushed brown hair.

As more people rise, they begin splitting off to take down tents. Zuhra heads over to Robin and Liryn to help with their tent.

Robin’s blue-gray eyes are bright, even this early in the day. Their hair, a dark auburn against their lightly tanned skin, is short and neat. “Good morning,” they say politely as they undo one of the ties holding the canvas tent in place.

Liryn makes an attempt at holding up the tent poles but her gloved fingers fall just short. She mutters something under her breath-- probably a dwarven swear-- and stomps her foot on the ground in frustration. It’s debatable whether or not Liryn brushed her thick, dark hair, which falls into loose curls around her face. Her soft-planed face scrunches as she tries to reach higher, fails miserably, and gives up.

“Good morning,” replies Zuhra in return as she lets Robin get the ties at the top of the poles. With their human height, they’re able to do it in one try.

Robin gathers up the tent poles as Zuhra folds up the canvas tent. “So, are you ready for another day of dealing with Orlesian nobles?” They grunt as they heave the poles together.

“It’ll be invigorating.” Zuhra says drily. “I know how much you love nobles. At least there won’t be another trained pet bear on this job.”

“Don’t remind me.” From beneath their bangs, Robin shoots her a slightly withering look. If I have to stitch up the victim of another pet bear, I will _personally_ scoop up that bear’s shit and deposit it in the owner’s bed.”

“Are you saying that it would be unbearable?” replies Zuhra as a grin splits her face.

“Are you serious?” Robin asks at the same time that Liryn spits, “Oh, fuck you.” Laughing, Zuhra continues folding up the tent so she can pack it away.

Liryn shakes her head and busies herself with gathering her belongings. It’s best that way since most of Liryn’s belongings are likely some form of dwarven explosives. They could also be something pointy, such as daggers, so Zuhra would really rather not risk it.

By the time they finish, the reddish tone of the sun has faded. It gazes down from the sky like a golden eye as Zuhra heads back to her shared tent. Miyah has woken up, apparently, as she is in the process of loading their bundled up tent into one of the packs of one of their supply horses. Her warhorse and Zuhra’s pony, both already wearing their tack, graze a few feet away.

“Good morning.” Miyah smiles at Zuhra. “Your horse has your things. I left your polearm over there,” she jerks her chin to where her polearm lays against the tree. It rests with its blade, gleaming from its recent polishing, pointed up.

“Thank you.” Zuhra picks up her polearm, its weight a familiar comfort. Electricity hums in her veins as she runs her fingers over wood worn smooth with use. She slings it across her back. It clicks into place courtesy of the enchantment Miyah placed on it some time ago.

Her pony nudges her shoulder and Zuhra pats his nose.

“Morning, y’all.” Clifford’s voice over her shoulder makes Zuhra jump. She whirls around, but he’s standing a good ten feet away. Smart man. “You know the deal for today, yeah?”

“It’s bandits today, right?” Miyah turns around and plants a hand on her hip. Her leather coat swishes with the motion.

Clifford nods and takes the reins of the pack horse. Buttercup, she thinks his name is. He noses Clifford’s pocket, nose twitching. “Lord Legrand’s estate is just down the road. He said that there are bandits hiding out on his property. We’re supposed to clear them out. ” He pulls a sugar cube out of his pocket as he speaks. Buttercup practically inhales it. “You both good to go? Irma will give us more orders when we’re on the road, but it’ll be the usual. Today, we don’t have an exact headcount for the bandits, so we’ll have to look for them.”

Zuhra nods and checks her horse’s saddle packs. Satisfied, she swings herself into the saddle.

“We should be good. You want Zuhra and I flanking?” Miyah turns to her own horse, looking down at Clifford from over her shoulder.

“Yep.” Clifford’s grin is bright against his freckles. Buttercup snuffles his brown hair, ruffling it, but Clifford only laughs. He takes Buttercup’s reins and leads him over to the rest of their spare horses, who are carrying their extra supplies.

Zuhra leads her horse back towards the road. After a moment, she hears the steady hoofbeats of Miyah’s horse behind her. She joins the stream of Sirens on the main road. It takes a heartbeat for Miyah to maneuver into position next to her.

The ride is relatively subdued, as too much noise will give their position away. Their spare horses trot along in the middle of the line. Karl, who joined a few months ago, and Irma ride on either side of the bunch to keep the horses from scattering. Her shield gleaming at her side, Irma’s helmet hides her black hair and the gold piercings on her ears. The piercings are reminders of her home in Rivain, she had said once. She has not returned to Rivain since deserting the templars.

“How did you sleep?” Miyah is a little too loud, if the look that Irma gives her is anything to go by. Chastised, Miyah’s cheeks darken.

Zuhra shrugs and rolls her shoulders to loosen them. “I… slept well. Thank you.” The sun flashes white against Miyah’s buckles. “How about you? Did you sleep well?”

“I slept okay. I wasn’t too tired after I was out for so long yesterday, but I still fell asleep pretty quickly.” Miyah threads a hand through her horse’s mane as they plod along and Zuhra is content to let the conversation fade into silence. They do not discuss Zuhra’s nightmare. She can feel Miyah’s unspoken concern hanging in the air, but Miyah is nothing if not considerate. Pushing the issue further would come at the at the expense of Zuhra’s pride, and so the silence remains.

Most of the Dales are still covered in snow. The worst of winter has came and went, but there’s enough of a chill in the air to keep Zuhra alert. Zuhra considers their timing. If Heden intends to take the Sirens to Ferelden, then they must cross the Frostbacks soon. By itself, the journey will take only a few days. However, the winter snow will make the crossing far more treacherous. Zuhra hopes that the snow will not delay their travel too much since the seemingly eternal cold of the Frostback Mountains is a far cry from the warmth of Tevinter’s long summers.

Zuhra lets her mind wander. Up ahead, Liryn loudly launches into a story, her freshly braided black hair gleaming in the sun. Zuhra catches bits and pieces of her tale, which sounds like it’s about some stupid human who had tried to commission her. Apparently, they wanted a golden collar for their supposedly tame pet bear.

“-bears are _terrible_ animals. You know what I would do, if I wanted a guard animal? Geese. I would build it some spiky teeth. Who would fuck with a goose with bigass teeth? Those assholes can _fly._ Imagine some Fade-damned goose coming out of the sky to try to bite you with its iron teeth.”

Privately, Zuhra hopes that Liryn never gets her hands on a goose. It would not go well.

She looks over her shoulder at the Sirens bringing up the back of the line, who do not seem to have heard Liryn’s story. Tanvir adjusts his greatsword’s leather grip. He periodically glances up, searching the trees, before returning to his task. His lips move and he must say something in elvhen, judging by the way Eliel shakes his head in reply. His blond braid swishes with the motion. Zuhra is fairly certain that they speak in elvhen so they can both talk shit without anyone understanding them.

Robin mostly ignores whatever Dalish gossip is occuring. They keep looking over their shoulder, watching the road behind them. The shield on their left arm is a spark of silver against the deep red-brown of their hair and the drabness of the dirt road.

“Zuhra.” Miyah’s voice is low. Zuhra turns back around and sees the sign.

_Le domaine de Legrand_

_Lord de Savrenne_

At the front of the line, Heden points at the sky with her index and middle finger. _Be on guard._ Irma mirrors her, as does Clifford.

Heden begins pointing at Sirens and then at different areas of the woods. Groups of two and three split off to search. Clifford, Miyah, and Liryn to the left of the road. Robin, Eliel, and Tanvir to the right. Irma and Zuhra will scout ahead. Heden, Karl, and the remaining Sirens will guard their horses.

Zuhra hops off her pony and passes her reins to Karl. Irma follows suit, though she grabs a cloak from her saddle on the way down. The ex-templar walks briskly towards the side of the road, fastening the cloak as she goes. She jerks her chin towards the side of the road- a command to _stay to the side_. Zuhra nods and spares a glance over her shoulder. Behind them, everyone except for Heden and Karl are dismounting. In a flurry of motion, groups form and weapons are drawn.

Miyah catches Zuhra’s eye. _Be safe,_ she mouths.

 _You too_ , Zuhra replies.

Irma clears her throat and glances pointedly at Zuhra’s polearm, which is still locked to her back. Sheepishly, Zuhra draws it and props it against her shoulder. Satisfied, Irma drifts over to the trees and begins marching down what must lead to Legrand’s estate.

As they walk, she focuses on the sounds around them-- the whistle of wind in the trees, the soft crunch of their footsteps. Judging by the look of concentration on Irma’s face, she is doing the same.

A crunch of dead leaves. Zuhra tenses and shifts her weight to the balls of her feet. In a soft hiss of steel, Irma draws her sword. One heartbeat drags past, then two. A nug steps out of the undergrowth and stares inquisitively at them. Irma waits another moment before slowly relaxing. Zuhra follows her lead, though her heartbeat hammers in her ears.

There’s another crunch, louder this time. Irma freezes and sinks into a battle stance. Her shield points towards the other side of the road. Zuhra slides behind Irma and together, they inch towards the other side of the road.

A flash of steel in the trees. It’s armor, or perhaps a sword. Zuhra slides forward, into the trees. She steps carefully, sticking to the softer dirt and moss to muffle her footsteps. As she approaches, she can see two bandits. One has an axe, the other a sword and shield. Their voices are hushed but angry- an argument? It’s all in Orlesian-- it’s a shame Mael and Eliel aren’t here to translate.

Zuhra presses her back to a tree and considers her options. Her best bet will be to strike one and then lead the other back to Irma. The one with the shield should be her first target. It’ll be easier to strike now and get around the bandit’s defenses.

Everything slows down like it’s been drenched in honey. Zuhra shifts her polearm, waits for her target to step closer to the tree, and- _crack._ Her polearm’s counterweight sinks into the man’s hip. It’s protected by chainmail, which is helpful against arrows, but not a solid metal sphere. He screams as he falls, she thinks. Not dead, but she doubts he can stand.

The other bandit has her axe out and sends it swinging towards Zuhra’s head. She ducks and steps to the side. It takes a moment for the axe’s momentum to carry it to the end of its swing. Zuhra seizes this moment to turn and _run_ . Branches whip past her face, but Zuhra barely feels it. Leaves crunch behind her and she can hear the _thwap_ of branches hitting the bandit’s helmet.

Zuhra sprints through the last stretch of trees and darts behind Irma. The bandit comes roaring out of the trees. Irma settles on her heels and meets the bandit’s axe with her shield. They collide with a resounding ring. Rocking back with the blow, Irma angles her shield to catch the edge of the bandit’s axe.

Irma’s sword flashes in a blur of silver. Its tip catches the bandit in the soft flesh underneath her arm. Zuhra steps forward on Irma’s shield side and swings the blade of her polearm. It glances off the chain mail. The bandit jerks her axe free, knocking it into Zuhra’s shoulder in the process.

 _Fuck._ It hits her pauldron and Zuhra accidentally bites her tongue. She steps back and settles her polearm into a defensive stance. A wave of pain radiates into her shoulder and down her arm. Her mouth tastes like copper.

Irma steps forward, placing herself between Zuhra and the bandit. The bandit swings again, but Irma catches it on her sword. She pushes the axe away and rams her shield into the bandit’s chest. With a muffled grunt _,_ the bandit stumbles back. Irma pivots and swings her sword again. One hit, and red bubbles up on the bandit’s arm. Zuhra watches as Irma takes another step forward. The bandit swings again. In one smooth motion, Irma holds up her shield to block the blow as she stabs at the bandit’s shoulder. More blood, this time. Irma drives the butt of her sword into her opponent’s forehead and lets her crumple to the floor.

After a moment, it’s apparent that the bandit isn’t getting up again. Irma kneels next to the stunned bandit.

“If you wish, you can surrender and your life will be spared. It’s up to you.” The ex-templar murmurs softly.

The bandit shakes her head weakly. Irma murmurs something under her breath and with a flash of her sword, blood sprays onto the dirt road. She rises and her dark eyes roam over Zuhra. Satisfied that Zuhra won’t fall over in the next thirty seconds, Irma trudges towards the first bandit. Zuhra floats after her like a wraith.

The first bandit is where Zuhra left him. He’s sitting upright and struggling to stand. Irma approaches him and slams her sword into his hand. He drops his sword with a cry.

“Do you wish to surrender?” Irma’s voice is gentle.

Instead of replying, the bandit rushes at her. Her blade sinks into his leather armor, right next to his sternum. His body slides off her sword and onto the ground with a sickening squelch.

Somewhere nearby, a bird chirps. Irma cleans her blade on man’s trousers before turning to Zuhra.

“How badly did they get you?” Her voice is low, to stop it from carrying.

One of Zuhra’s pauldrons has a shallow dent. She twists so that Irma can get a better look at it. Irma gazes critically at her pauldron and probes it with gentle fingers.

“Can you move your fingers?”

She can. Her elbow works too, although her arm twinges with pain. Rotating her shoulder is an entirely different matter. Everything moves, but fuck, it _hurts._ Irma carefully inspects her shoulder before taking a step back to give Zuhra her space.

“As far as I can tell, nothing is dislocated or broken. We’ll have to take a better look at it once we regroup. I don’t want to send you back on your own when there are still bandits running about, so you’ll have to stick with me. Think you can last until then?”

Zuhra nods.

“Good. Next time, attack from my sword side. That way, you’ll be behind my shield _and_ my sword.” Irma instructs as she sheaths her sword. “I’ve seen you protect yourself before. I know that you know how to do it. Be more careful next time and choose your actions wisely. Have faith in yourself.” Her eyes bore into Zuhra’s, searching for a sign of her comprehension.

Zuhra nods and Irma straightens, patting her uninjured shoulder. “Let’s do one final sweep of the woods and then head back. I don’t want you to aggravate whatever injury you have, so you should stay back if you can. If you have to fight, have a backup plan. You could probably wield just one dagger or try using your polearm one-handed.”

Her throat feels dry. Zuhra clears it and then replies, “I think it’s bruised. Maybe a light sprain. Should still be mostly functional.”

“Mostly.” Irma casts a critical eye on her. “Mostly functional doesn’t mean entirely functional..” She adjusts her shield. “Let’s go. Don’t engage unless necessary. Let me worry about that.”

Irma grabs the dead bandit’s foot and drags them back towards the side of the road. _For getting a headcount later,_ Zuhra thinks. With that task accomplished, Irma marches back into the woods. They keep an eye out for caves, big rocks- anywhere a bandit or several bandits could hide or take shelter. The estate’s forest consists of, unsurprisingly, mostly trees. Irma decides to check the other side of the road. They find a rabbit, but not much else.

Satisfied with their search, Irma waves Zuhra back towards the road. Zuhra trails after her. Her shoulder feels very sore, but it isn’t the throbbing pain of a broken bone. It would be rather inconvenient if her shoulder was broken, Zuhra thinks.

Their walk back to their supplies is similarly uneventful. Birds chirp in the trees, blissfully unaware of the bandits (dead or alive) lurking in their midst. It must be midmorning by now. Soon, their horses come into view. Irma raises a hand to make the _all-clear_ signal at Heden, who gives her a thumbs up.

Heden swings down from her pony to greet them. “How did it go?”

Irma shrugs. “Found two and dispatched both of them. One of them hit Zuhra in the shoulder. No blood, but it dented her pauldron.”

Nose crinkling, Heden leans forward to inspect the wound. “Ouch. Did it break anything?”

“I don’t think so,” says Zuhra. “Feels like a bad bruise, maybe a sprain.”

“We can have Mael and Robin take a look-” A muffled explosion cuts Heden off. It came from the direction that Miyah, Liryn, and Clifford went.

For a moment, Heden only stares at the billowing cloud of dust. “If that broke anything important, I’m going to fill everyone’s tents with bees.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to thank the following people:  
> Saria, [simkjrs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/simkjrs/pseuds/simkjrs), Lorelei, son, and [Squidpond](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squidpond) for all dealing with me yelling about dragon age  
> FenxShiral for making [Project Elvhen](https://archiveofourown.org/series/229061)  
> The person who made this [wonderful map of thedas](https://www.reddit.com/r/dragonage/comments/2qsrmy/fanart_ethnolinguistic_map_of_thedas/)
> 
> A word on content warnings: I will try to include warnings for chapters containing potentially sensitive or distressing topics. This way, anyone who may be adversely affected by certain content can choose whether or not they need to skip it. Please let me know if there's anything that I forgot to warn about or if you think something should have a content warning!
> 
> The overall fic is rated T because there's canon-typical violence and everyone has a potty mouth. If there are any particularly disgusting/gory scenes, I'll note it in the content warning.
> 
> In terms of future updates, I'm a very unorganized person by nature and I can't promise that I'll stick to any sort of update schedule. Right now, I have over 40k words written but I have lots of editing to do. I'll try to post updates on [my writing tumblr](distracted-dragon-age.tumblr.com), so keep an eye out!
> 
> I haven't actually published a fic before, so this is an exciting experience! (I'm not counting the pokemon fanfiction I wrote when I was 11. It technically saw the light of day, but I like to pretend that it doesn't exist.) If you have any constructive criticism, I would love to hear it! Please don't be afraid to leave a bad/critical review-- hearing others' thoughts will help me improve. I appreciate any feedback that you have to offer!


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